


More Than a Crush

by Emeli_Thorne



Category: Sweet Virginia (2017)
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Sam Gets a Haircut, Sam Has a Crush, but also some really sweet moments between sam and cleo, he's a little shy about it, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeli_Thorne/pseuds/Emeli_Thorne
Summary: Sam Rossi has a routine. He breaks it every Wednesday morning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FFanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFanon/gifts).



> Inspired by my conversation with my friend K on tumblr and by a fic idea I've had for a long time. 
> 
> This is my first time writing Sam, so if it's too ooc, I apologise.

His morning starts the same as any day: he wakes up, takes some of his _medicine_ to get ahead of tremors, then takes his real medicine and showers quickly before heading to the reception desk.

As always, Maggie has already put a fresh pot of coffee and Sam takes his time talking to her and enjoying those first few sips of the bitter liquid. They discuss if there’s anything that needs fixing and if any of the guests checked out. The usual motel business.

It’s nine o’clock on Wednesday and Sam heads to his weekly visit to the farmer’s market in his pickup. It’s not because he needs anything in particular, since he mostly eats at the diner or makes himself a simple sandwich when he’s too tired to go anywhere. The only thing he does is roam around for a quarter of an hour before heading home, mostly empty-handed.

These Wednesday visits to the farmer’s market are not about the market itself anyway. They are more about a woman.

Cleopatra.

She hates her full name, she told him once over a cup of coffee in her salon on a slow day, and wanted to changed it but her mother begged her not to. It was her late father’s last wish to have her named after the famous ruler. She likes - no, _insists -_ to be called Cleo though. “I used to get picked on in school a lot. Man, did I hate my name.” So she started going by Cleo.

Sam thinks _Cleo_ suits her better anyway. It has a nice ring to it.

Cleo moved here a couple of years ago and owns the only hair salon in town, situated on the other side of it. It’s not that far from the main shops and hangouts but it is never within Sam’s designated route, regrettably. However, on Wednesdays he gets to park his pickup outside her salon and take a short walk to the market. 

And if by any chance he gets to catch a sight of her in the salon’s window or on the stairs, well...

This morning he finds her sitting on the stairs, reading newspapers with a mug in her hand. Sam has seen that mug in her hands more times than he can count. It seems to be the only thing she drinks her coffee from, and he wonders if Cleo has some special bond with the mug.

“Hi, Sam!” she greets him, a smile on her face and sunshine in her pretty green eyes. Her short hair, tied in a braid, lies over her shoulder, the end brushing a button of her work shirt.

“Morning, Cleo,” he walks up to her with a smile, hands gripping his cap. When he’s just a few inches from her, Sam’s senses get overwhelmed with an intoxicating scent of her perfume, his mind dizzy from the brightness of her smile.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. What have you been up to?” her voice is soft and just a bit raspy as she moves slightly, obviously inviting him to join her on the steps.

Sitting down, Sam’s careful to leave some space between them, though no matter how much he tries, her leg always ends up brushing against his. His jeans are useless then, unable to keep the heat of her body from piercing through them, spreading all over his body, lodging itself deep in his chest.

He doesn’t mind it.

Sam tells her about some problems they had at the motel the week before, and it doesn’t escape him how his voice sounds full of apologies, like these weekly visits were dates with Cleo and he dared to stand her up.

Cleo nods in understanding and inquires about his health, making his heart beat just a bit faster as his gaze falls on his hands. Before he can answer her, Cleo’s hand covers his.

It’s supposed to be comforting, and it is.

But what’s going through Sam’s mind in that moment is that it’s the first time they’ve touch.

Taking his time to study it, Sam notes how gently her hand lies on his, how it seems to offer him more than comfort yet he can’t yet figure out what that more is.

Then her hand disappears, breaking the fog of his thoughts. He feels her fingers rake through his hair and for a brief second, Sam wonders if he even combed it after getting out of shower this morning.

Not moving, he lets himself relax under her touch. It’s a truly pleasant feeling, her fingers combing through his hair, that it  makes him sigh and almost puts him to sleep.

Cleo’s lips are unexpectedly too close to his cheek when she tells him, “Your hair’s getting too long, Sam. You should come by one day, let me cut it.”

The tips of her fingers graze his temple, making him finally turn his head and meet her gaze; what he finds there sends a jolt through his heart.

“Umm, I... Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.”

Her hand is on the side of his cheek when he starts to get up and she shyly bows her head.

Pulling the cap over his head, Sam says, “I better get goin’. I’ll be seeing you next week, Cleo. Have a nice day.”

Cleo waves at him as he crosses the street and heads towards the market, completely lost in that one moment between them that he doesn’t even remember coming back to the motel or anything else that happens that day.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t see Cleo properly for another month afterwards, only catches glimpses of her talking to her clients or opening the salon early in the morning. The mug’s always in her hand and sometimes she looks at it so wistfully, with some sort of sadness. The smile on her face is not as wide nor do her eyes shine the way they did before.

The sight makes his heart ache, more so if he indulges his selfish ways and lets himself think she’s like that because she might miss him.

Then he shakes his head to pull himself from such vile thoughts and decides he shouldn’t prod into her feelings nor make up things that are simply not true.

Instead of parking outside her salon, Sam now parks a few shops down. Far enough that she doesn’t see him, close enough that he sees her while driving by, making sure to slow down.

It’s not that Sam doesn’t want to see her or take her up on that offer to cut his hair. She has been saying that from the very first time they struck up a conversation, a few months short of a year ago.

Her hair was even shorter then, just reaching her jaw and the pure happiness radiating off her drew him instantly. She kept talking until she lost her breath, explaining why she moved and how welcoming everyone was. Sam remembers being mesmerized by the sheer energy she exuded, reminding him that once upon a time has was just like her.

Until fate flipped his life upside down and drained every bit of joy he ever had.

Then she pointed at his hair and asked, _“When you gonna let me cut your hair, Mr Rossi?”_ It sounded a bit like teasing, though Sam knew his hair was indeed too long since he could barely tame it.

He promised to come by one day for a haircut. Kept promising her that every time he ran into her ‘by accident’ and her response has always been, _“Next time?”_ And then he’d nod, feeling his hands shake slightly before he’d shove them into his pockets, unsure if it was his illness or her effect on him.

 _‘Next time’_ never happened, but Sam kept coming back, making up excuses, running errands that led him in her part of the town until Maggie and Rosie started getting suspicious, and Sam didn’t feel like disclosing his feelings.

So he changed up his schedule, wanting to be smart about his little meetings with her, wanting to keep them all to himself.

He wishes nothing more than to let her fingers play with his hair, do with it whatever she wants as long as he gets to be close to her.

Something between them changed that Wednesday weeks ago, shifting Sam’s quiet hopes upside down, revealing his closest yet most ignored feelings that he feared he might just scare Cleo away.

So, Sam doesn’t park his car outside her salon, but he makes sure to spend a few minutes by his car upon his return from the farmer’s market, pretending to load his bags in the back, all the while just watching her, yet not ready to have a conversation with her.

Yet another month passes without seeing her properly, but he starts driving a different, albeit, longer route now so he drives by her salon almost every day, that Maggie and Rosie start inquiring about it again.

He says nothing.

*       *      *      *      *

It’s on a Tuesday evening, just as the rain starts to beat against his windshield, that he catches the sight of Cleo running in the direction he was just coming from, newspapers on her head – a weak protection against the heavy rain.

Honking two times, he finally gets her attention and Cleo hurries towards his pickup after a brief moment of hesitance, slamming the passenger door behind her.

“Hey, Sam,” she greets him, wiping wet strands stuck to her face. Her skirt is clearly damp and she starts to shiver. Immediately, Sam turns on the heater, hoping it’ll help warm her up.

“Hey, Cleo. What are you doin’ in the salon at this hour? Thought you already closed.”

“Checking up on me, ha?” When he looks away without answering, Cleo says instead, “I forgot my mug there. Had to go back.”

“For a mug?”

Looking down, he sees her holding a small paper bag. _What is it about that darn mug that had her come back for it at this hour?_

“Well, it’s not just any mug, _Sam_ ,” Cleo stresses his name, the sound of her voice turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears red. Thank god it’s dark already otherwise... He catches her adding, “It’s a special mug.”

“A gift from someone?”

Sam makes it sound like teasing, tilting his head so she can see him grin at her though some strange emotion starts blooming inside of him. Ignoring it, Sam makes a left turn, sensing Cleo’s gaze on him.

“No, a gift to myself. It reminded me of someone.”

Her answer puts him at ease though he attempts to chase it away because it shouldn’t be there at all.

Not the jealousy he felt at first, not this relief.

They get to her house and before she leaves the car, Cleo’s turning, “Wanna come in?”

Without a word, Sam follows her out, waiting until she unlocks the door and they get inside.

Cleo disappears somewhere and Sam’s left to wander around the small living room, noting the framed photos all over the place. Cleo’s smiling on all the pictures that feature her, and those that don’t make Sam think she was the one that took them.

When she gets back, Sam is already sitting on the couch and he starts to get up when Cleo waves him off. Instead, she tells him to make himself comfortable as she goes to make them some coffee. No sooner has she left, she returns with two mugs. 

Hers is obviously the one featuring a silhouette of a bearded man’s face.

Cleo sits next to him clad in a big sweater that hugs her entire body, drawing her legs under her. Squirming under her gaze, Sam sips his coffee, not quite sure if he should say anything, if he should apologise.

Okay, he should definitely apologise, yet words seem to be stuck in his throat.

“Sam, mind if I ask you something?”

Looking up, he nods, his eyes tracing the lines of her face.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Kinda. Pretty shitty of me, ha?” Dropping down his gaze, Sam licks his lips, his hand latching onto the mug more firmly.

Cleo’s voice is silent, laced with, what Sam recognises as, her typical shyness and worry. “Kinda. Did I do something, say something...”

“Yeah. You did.” Words like bullets leave his mouth and the hurt he now sees on Cleo’s face makes him regret even coming here.

“Oh.” Crestfallen, Cleo lowers the mug onto the coffee table then leans back, pulling into herself as much as she can. “I’m sorry if anything I did offended-”

“It’s not- I...” He starts, then pauses to compose himself, to calm the tremor of his hand. _This is it_ , Sam thinks, _now or never._ “I’m in love with you, Cleo.”

Her eyes go wide, hand covering her mouth. Before he could lose his courage, Sam continues.

“That day, when we last talked... I realised it then I just couldn’t...”

Cleo interrupts him, her hands griping his forearm to pull him further towards her. It’s then he realises he has somehow moved to the end of the couch, too far away from her.

“You’re so wonderful, Sam Rossi, But god, are you dumb. I’m in love with you too.”

It’s his time to be surprised, almost dropping the mug when her words finally find their way to his brain.

“What? You are?”

Laughing, Cleo entwines her hand with his free one. “Yeah, silly. Why do you think I keep that spot for you? And keep asking to cut your hair? Aside from it being too long for that pretty face of yours.”

Sam chuckles, closing his eyes for a brief second to soak this all in. Her words, her confession, his own clumsy one...

“Ha,” he says, eyes trained on hers. His voice comes out barely audible, “I must be real blind.”

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes at him, Cleo wraps her arms around him, lips inches from his.

“Shut up, Rossi, and kiss me.”

He does as she says, lays his lips over hers, his free hand gripping her hip just to feel her under his fingers.

On their way to her bedroom, Sam leaves the mug on her dresser so that both his hands are free but not for long.

Plopping on the bed, they end up tangled in a heap of limbs, his hands full of her flesh, brain dazed with the aroma of her skin, the only sounds he can register that of her moans and soft sighs.

It’s when he reaches her belly button with her hands stuck in his hair that Sam lets himself full on beam, face pressed into her skin.

This was a scene from his dream, one of many, yet it wasn’t a dream.

It was real.

Cleo calls his name and when their eyes meet, she reads clearly what he’s thinking without Sam uttering a word.

“Gonna finish what you started or what?”

She’s teasing him again but Sam obliges, kissing his way down her body and getting lost in reality.

* * *

 

Cleo's mug

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part of this short Sam fic. I hope you liked it and it wasn't too ooc. I really liked writing Sam, especially in this last part because I feel like he's more open now.

Several days later, Sam finds himself sitting in a chair in Cleo's salon as her skillful hands cut his hair with her special tools. They are alone, since Cleo insisted he come by early in the morning before any of her usual clients show up.

“I really want to have you all to myself, Sam. I’m selfish that way.”

She’s the least selfish person, Sam thinks, but he understands. This moment, it’s so intimate and he’d much rather share it with her and her alone, without the town’s gossipers listening in on their conversation and spying on them.

It’s taken him awhile to finally take her up on the offer yet now he feels like such an idiot for wasting so much time. He could have had this a lot sooner – her soft hands playing with his hair, Cleo teasing him for letting his hair grow so long without properly taking care of it.

“God lord, Sam! Have you ever heard of a conditioner?”

He knows she’s joking, at least partially. Once upon a time, he did care for himself and his appearance, though in these latter years it all became an unnecessary task, especially with his frequent tremors.

“No, what’s that?” Sam retorts, a smile pulling on his lips as their eyes meet in the mirror and he sees her trying to suppress a grin.

Cleo is gentle with him, almost too gentle that at times he doesn’t even feel her hands running through his hair, doesn’t feel the scissors cutting chunks of it. His focus is on the sound of her humming along some tune playing on the radio, the smell of fresh flowers that is enveloping him just by being this close to her.

Closing his eyes Sam relaxes completely, surrendering his whole being to her in this moment and it feels heavenly. It’s the most relaxed he’s been in a awhile, especially considering his avoidance of Cleo in the past few months because of his stubbornness and idiocy.

Sam was so angry with himself when Cleo confessed how his behaviour hurt her. He wished he could take it all back, act more mature and not like some lovestruck fool who has never had any contact with a woman.

“Done!” Cleo exclaims and Sam open his eyes now to assess her work. Turning form side to side, he notes she didn’t cut too much of it, just enough so it doesn’t go into his eyes. Upon running his hand through it, Sam also realises his hair feels much smoother and softer than before.

“I put on something special to make it more shiny and soft,” Cleo adds when she sees his reaction.

“I thought I’d be walking out of here bald.” Grinning, Sam stands up and turns to her to see Cleo beaming at him, her face radiating with joy.

Cleo approaches him, her hands cupping his face, eyes roaming round his head to check on her work one more time. “I love your curls too much to ever part with them.”

She kisses him then and Sam wraps his arms around her frame, loving the way their bodies just mould together like they’ve always fit.

“I like it,” is whispered against her jaw as he nuzzles his face in her neck and feels her body laugh when his beard tickles her skin.

“I like it too. Now I can see more of you.”

His eyes shine so brightly when he looks at her then, this pure light in front of him and Sam thinks he must have done something good after losing his family to be gifted such a being that makes his days so much happier.

“I’ll come pick you up after work. Gonna take you someplace nice.”

Cleo grins, her fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, absentmindedly unbuttoning a few more to reveal his chiselled chest. She sighs at the sight then responds, “Oh, I like the sound of that. Are we having a dessert too?”

The question is a loaded one and Sam sees a glint of mischief in her eyes. Laughing, he kisses her cheek before heading out.

“You bet.” Lingering a few moments more, savouring the touch of her skin against his, Sam finally lets go of her hand. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”

“You too, Sam.”

Outside, Sam turns around to catch a sight of her waving at him, smiling widely as the first client comes in. Waving back, he gets into his pickup, a smile never leaving his face.

When he gets to the motel, Rosie and Maggie are full of compliments for his new haircut and don’t fail to notice how happy he looks.

They don’t need to ask him anything since they’ve seen him kissing Cleo a few nights ago and he shyly retreated into his room without a comment.

Rosie and Maggie just share a knowing look between them and all three of them get on with their work, Sam checking his phone a few times too many that day to gaze at the photo of Cleo and him she snapped and made his wallpaper.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comment on the fic, it really makes my day.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at lightblindingme :D


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